A Biker's Rush Poem by Frank Ian Bowen

My spirit soars through air so clear,
my booted foot selects the gear,
my hands are gloved but music make,
by pulling levers of clutch and brake,
the engine sings as revs soar high,
the hedgerows blur as they rush by,
my head and face are covered full,
my focus sharp, my eyes not dull.
I see the hazards along the road,
and vary motorcycle’s load.
With wind in face and hair at speed,
my limbs do demonstrate bike’s need.
As bend looms up sharp right it goes,
my instincts? – lean, but mind your toes!
The forces pressing down on me,
cause thrills, excitement – simply Wheeee!
I straighten up and power on,
the throttle’s opened, bend is gone.
Acceleration’s so very quick,
if I’m not careful neck will crick.
The noise from engine, box and pipes,
is musical to biking types,
I marvel at the grip I get,
from two small tyres, dry or wet.
The machine I sit astride,
Makes me happy, filled with pride,
I love my bike in wet or dry,
‘Tis nearest thing to being ‘high’.
Now all I need to be complete,
Is biker-girl on my back seat! !